Refugee Rising

BY KAREN DAY

Patrick Ngalamulume, 25, stands at his desk at Hawley Troxell, reviewing a case of contractual law. Outside his window, a vista of downtown Boise expands to the foothills beyond. That Patrick is even alive is somewhat of a miracle, making the fact that as the first college-graduate in his Congolese refugee family, he just passed the Idaho Bar Exam more impressive. And unlikely.

Recent federal cuts to the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program haveforced more than 100 of the nation’s 325 resettlement offices to close. Rising xenophobia and nationalism across the globe and in American culture have increased discrimination and resentment against newcomers from foreign countries. Boise, however, has remained welcoming to the Ngalamulume family since they arrived from Zambia, 12 years ago.

“My mom and dad work as school janitors,” says Patrick.“With seven kids, it was never easy. They never talk about what happened in the Congo, but it wasn’t good. Like many first-generation refugees, I watched my parents work hard and vowed to help them by making the most of the opportunity I was given. When my father said I would be a lawyer someday, I accepted what he said as my personal responsibility, not as a suggestion.”

Driving ambition for success comes at a cost and help others Patrick almost paid with his life. College led directly by the University of Idaho College of Law where he studied harder and longer than anyone, determined to justify his scholarship and parent’s belief in him. Passing the bar exam with the highest score of his class was the next goal. All the while, his mind and body rebelled.

“The minute I stopped focusing on studying or work, all I could think about was killing myself,” says Patrick. “My best friend died and I didn’t even ask how. I stopped eating, lost 50 pounds, but kept going because If I stopped, I’d commit suicide.”

Research about suicidal ideation

among refugees points to a low sense of community connectedness and belonging, combined with high level of perceived burden. Patrick explains in more personal terms. “I didn’t see myself reflected anywhere. I was alone besides one exceptional college professor from Togo. Still, I never dared talk about my suicidal thoughts or fears. It’s taboo among African-American men and especially among refugees.” Two fellow law school students saw their own mental health struggles reflected in Patrick and suggested therapy. “At first, I said, ‘No way!’” admits Patrick, claiming it was a sign of mental weakness. “Still, I knew I’d rather be dead than keep living as I was. Therapy saved my life.”

One month ago, Patrick posted an emotional video of the moment he learned he had passed the bar exam with the highest score in his testing group. LinkedIn tends to be a brand-building site, but there is Patrick, crumbled on the floor, crying, his mother wailing tearfully, holding her son. The raw and truthful video has more than 849,000 views.

Today, Patrick knows where he’s going and why. “I’m here to share my story and help others by telling my truth, about suicide, about hiding who you are, about feeling unseen. Becoming a lawyer is just my beginning.”

Patrick, sister, Ruthie, 9, brother, George, 22, mother Aimerance Kanku and grandson, sister Rose, 14.